Chapter 30 #2
“I knew you’d go looking online before you went out with him, so I had my brother help me set up a few things to reassure you,” Bronwyn said.
“We took them down after the podcast and the article exploded and your book sales started to gain momentum. That Friday when he told you he was leaving on his mission marked the official end of the job.”
“But if he knew he was about to end things, why would he have said yes when I invited him to dinner to meet my entire family? That was so cruel,” I said, more to myself than to the other participants on the Zoom as I flashed back to that phone call.
I’d been so nervous to invite him, and we’d ended up all but professing our love.
He’d even told me he couldn’t wait to meet Lucy.
The betrayal was so intense it temporarily knocked the wind out of me.
“Dinner?” Bronwyn asked. “He was never supposed to meet anyone close to you. That was the deal. He was supposed to go on a series of dates with you and then delete the burner app as soon as he told you about the mission and never contact you again.”
“But,” I stammered, still breathless with shock, “he was still texting me from the same number until the day my book hit the bestseller list. That was almost a week later.” Why I suddenly felt the need to clarify this discrepancy in her story was a mystery to me.
A hint of concern passed over Bronwyn’s perfectly contoured face. “You shouldn’t have heard from him again after he told you about the mission.”
I wondered why I had. Then I remembered my newly discovered talent for sexting, and broke into a full-body sweat. “I’m c-curious,” I sputtered, swiping the back of my hand across my damp forehead, “what’s the going rate for a fake boyfriend?”
“Five thousand dollars, plus expenses,” Bronwyn said.
I tried to decide: Was that a lot or a little? And then: Should my self-respect hang on the answer?
Based on Emily’s slack-jawed reaction, it was a lot. “But that was your entire original marketing budget until the book hit the bestseller list!”
“Emily, did you really know nothing about this?” Harper interjected.
“I made sure she didn’t know anything,” Bronwyn answered for Emily. “I made sure no one, other than the actor and my brother, knew anything. I was protecting all of us—you included, Thea. Everyone needed plausible deniability to pull it off.”
“Gee, thanks,” I scoffed. “And what about Trucrimehunter213, the person who first posted on Reddit that I made up having an astronaut boyfriend to sell books? Were you behind that, too?”
“No, I swear,” Bronwyn said. “I had nothing to do with that. I’m so sorry. I never meant for something like that to happen. That was awful.”
That’s what was awful? “But you thought of everything else—the fake web pages, the burner app, the dates, the podcast ambush. How did you imagine this was all going to end when I couldn’t produce the astronaut?”
Bronwyn seemed to be gaining a real-time understanding of the law of unintended consequences. Her voice dropped as she said, “I was so focused on making the New York Times bestseller list. I guess I figured everyone would be so happy we had a hit that maybe how it happened wouldn’t really matter?”
The upturn in her voice enraged me. “What if I’d slept with him? You don’t think that would have mattered?”
“He was under strict orders not to have sexual relations with you,” Bronwyn said.
“Yeah,” I said sarcastically, “but like most guys, if you don’t give them an explicit laundry list of dos and don’ts, they tend to take things pretty literally. Hence the heated make-out sessions and the dick pic he sent me.”
“I’m really sorry,” Bronwyn said. “I didn’t know he sent you a photo.”
“But you sanctioned the make-out sessions?” I asked.
“I was trying to get you to fall for him. I guess it was unavoidable? On the bright side, your book is two spots above the new Colleen Hoover,” Bronwyn squeaked out.
“And just think about it. Hollywood has used fake relationships forever to promote movies and TV shows. They even have a name for it—‘showmances.’”
“But unlike in Hollywood, one side of this romance had no clue she was being scammed,” I pointed out. “Is the actor’s name even Max?”
Bronwyn stalled again, but Emily prodded her to answer.
“No . . . Maxwell is his middle name. I instructed him to use it because, ironically, I was worried if he used his real first name that you might suspect something.” Bronwyn winced as she said, “His name is actually Zachary Maxwell Keene.”
My eyes popped like a cartoon character’s.
Max’s name was really Zach? As in, Zach, the name I gave my astronaut hero in Love You to Mars and Back?
Literally the only name that would have been more insane was Sam.
My heart was beating so fast I thought I might pass out as I tried to make sense of this coincidence.
I looked over to gauge Emily’s reaction.
Her head was in her hands, no doubt in recognition this mess was way above her pay grade and would require involvement of the company’s legal counsel, which Harper now piped up to confirm.
“Emily, I hardly know what to say. There’s going to be massive fallout from this.
I’ll be in touch with your lawyers shortly to discuss remedies to make Thea whole.
But for starters, I expect the publisher to put out a statement taking full responsibility and exonerating Thea entirely.
I’ll be on standby to review it as soon as it’s ready.
And if The New York Times is going to punish anyone, it definitely shouldn’t be Thea. You need to make sure of that.”
The meeting seemed to be coming to an end, but I wasn’t done.
“Wait,” I said and then took a deep breath as I clocked the concerned looks on Harper’s, Emily’s, and Bronwyn’s faces.
“Bronwyn, I don’t think you have any idea of the havoc you’ve wreaked on my life.
Putting aside all the horrible things being said about me online, you should know that my in-laws have been threatening to seek custody of my daughter because they’re worried I’m having trouble distinguishing reality from the fictional world I created.
And the reason they’re worried about this is because I told them—and everyone—about my amazing astronaut boyfriend, who I really did think I was falling for, before he suddenly disappeared without a trace.
I’ve even had moments where I wondered if my in-laws weren’t right about me.
I literally started to question my sanity. All because of you.”
“I’m—” Bronwyn started.
I cut her off, my fury growing. “Stop. You knew what happened after my husband died. How my name was dragged through the mud. During a time of overwhelming grief, my family was forced to worry about things like whether those conspiracy nutcases might come after us in person. Now imagine what it’s been like for me to read all of those online posts and comments accusing me of being a fraud.
Of using my husband’s death to sell books.
Of hiding something about my husband’s death.
Of course I wanted to become a bestselling author, like every other author out there, but never, ever at the expense of my dignity.
And most certainly not at the expense of my daughter. What you did was despicable.”
And with that I glanced at the top of my screen to confirm the red “recording” light was still on and ended the meeting.
I emailed a link of the recording to myself and then crashed onto my bed, where I let loose the most bloodcurdling, rage-filled scream of my life into my pillow.
How could I have let myself be manipulated and duped by such fucking psychopaths?
How would I ever recover from this? Would I ever be able to trust my own judgment again? My eyes prickled with hot tears.
Moments later, my phone rang. It was Harper.
I took a few breaths to regain my composure before answering. “You really never suspected what Bronwyn was up to?” I asked, my voice hoarse, as I stood up and paced toward my living room window. I hated feeling so paranoid, but I couldn’t take anything for granted.
“Never,” Harper said. “I’m so sorry I told her the astronaut was based on Sam. I was only trying to explain why we needed to go to such unusual lengths to protect you. I would never, ever let someone do that to you. Remember, I was worried he was a stalker.”
“I know, I should have listened to you and everyone else,” I said with a groan. “I’m such an idiot. Oh god, what do I do now?” I rested my forehead against the glass. “Can I sue them?”
“You could,” Harper said. “You’ve clearly been wronged.
But, speaking as your agent, I’m not sure legal action against your publisher is the best idea for your career.
I think we focus on extracting some financial remuneration, whether it’s a bigger marketing budget or a bonus.
But first and foremost, we need to make sure they take all the blame and put out their statement quickly.
Unfortunately, you’re going to need to post something as well, because regardless of what the publisher says, there’s bound to be discussion about whether you knew or should have known. ”
“Great,” I sighed. “So I’m screwed. Either I knew and I’m a fraud, or I didn’t and I’m a chump.”
“You’re not a fraud. You wrote a terrific book that people are loving. There’s no denying that. You’re the victim here, not the perpetrator. Never forget that.”
I couldn’t help noticing Harper took pains to address my fears of being labeled a fraud, but not so much the chump part.
Wasn’t that exactly what I was, though? I’d let myself be deluded by a two-bit actor.
And then an even worse thought occurred to me: What would stop someone who was this desperate for a payday from saving and then selling our text thread to the highest bidder?
I shuddered at the thought of the additional reputational damage I would suffer if my texts—and especially the two ill-advised sexts—got out.
And then there was Lucy. Nausea swept through me.
The internet is forever. I simply had to confirm that Max or Zach, or whoever the hell he was, had in fact deleted all our communications before the publisher’s statement went out and he was tempted to cash in. Again.
“Harper,” I said. “I need you to get me that actor’s address. Like this minute. Please don’t take no for an answer.”